MADD

It is late and we’re all in bed—that is,

except for Dad who didn’t come home. Again.

But there is something different,

an electric current of shared intuition

running through Mom and me,

sparking us to spring when the phone rings, like

something’s wrong.

We stand in nightshirts as Mom answers.

Dad’s friend says Dad left drunk, and he’s sorry

he couldn’t convince him not to, but Mom says

it’s not his fault, Dad’s a grown man, and she and I hit

snooze on our dread and go back to bed.